


Five Times Damen Surprised Laurent

by TheUnforgivables



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 5 Times, I really really love this trope and finally got to write it, Laurent POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnforgivables/pseuds/TheUnforgivables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And one time Laurent surprised himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Damen Surprised Laurent

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, Laurent's POV is addicting as fuck. Six of my favorite scenes from Captive Prince and Prince's Gambit in Laurent's POV. Enjoy. <3

The first time Damen surprised Laurent, it came after he had made the Akielon brute kiss his boot. 

The feigned acquiescence hadn’t surprised him at all. He could feel the wave of hatred and anger radiating from the slave, especially as Damen pulled away from Laurent and hardly bothered to conceal the contempt in in his eyes. Their attentions turned to Councillor Audin as he approached them, his features alight with excitement. He offered the slave a reward -- the opportunity to find pleasure with the Regent’s pet, Nicaise. 

There had been a long moment as Damen sized up the boy in question. Laurent felt his throat tighten, though he did his best to keep every single muscle in his body relaxed and yet controlled. 

“Do whatever you want to me,” Damen said finally, his accent all too rough as the words left his lips. “I’m not going to rape a child.” 

Laurent couldn’t stop himself from looking back and forth between Nicaise and Damen. His brow furrowed and his lips parted, just slightly, as he tried to parse what had just happened. 

“Why not?” he asked despite himself. 

It didn’t fit -- Damianos, _Prince-killer_ was an evil shell of a man with no honor, surely he would rape a boy, just like his -- 

Damen’s tirade after Laurent’s question had left him reeling and looking at Damen in a new, if brief, light. He took only a moment to right himself, to reorient his image of the man in front of him to one he could continue to hate with all of his being.

He needed that hatred, after all, to fuel him. To strike back against his uncle and Akielos both.

***

The second time Damen surprised Laurent, it happened in Damen’s quarters, in the dead of night.

“The slaves?” Laurent asked. He couldn’t keep the confusion from his voice. He scowled to himself. “Am I supposed to believe that you care about their welfare? How exactly would they be treated better in Akielos? It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine. I would not have thought it possible to train the will out of a man, but you have managed it. Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.” 

Damianos, after all, was not a compassionate man. Laurent waited, watching Damen as he gathered his words to speak. He noticed the shift in Damen’s expression; the way he had glanced to the side. 

“One of the handlers took a heated iron from the fire to test whether the slave would obey an order to stay silent when he used it,” Damen said finally. His expression hardened as the words left his lips; it was obvious how this mere fact, surprisingly, angered him. “I don’t know if that is usual practice in this place, but good men don’t torture slaves in Akielos. Slaves are trained to obey in all things, but their submission is a pact: They give up free well in exchange for perfect treatment. To abuse someone who cannot resist -- isn’t that monstrous?” 

Laurent held back his initial retort, which would have made mention of Damen’s tattered back. Cutting down his brother was monstrous. The Regent taking advantage of his grief was monstrous. There were so many things he could say, but he wasn’t given the chance as Damen continued: “Please, they’re not like me. They’re not soldiers. They haven’t killed anyone. They’re innocent. They will serve you willingly. And so will I, if you do something to help them.” 

Laurent just stared at him, then. “You overestimate my influence over my uncle,” he said, despite himself. It was not a truth he wanted to make painfully clear to his worst enemy. Damen’s shoulders tightened, bunching together as his jaw moved to open. “No. I --” His brows inched close together. “You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?” 

It simply did not make any sense. There had to be some other reason. Some other motive behind Damen’s actions --

He just needed to figure out _what_.

***

The third time came at night, in Laurent’s rooms.

Laurent looked up from his reading, his eyes struggling to focus on the sight of his barbarian slave and the three men bringing him into the room. He remembered the scent of his horse’s sweat; how she hadn’t been herself, earlier that day. He remembered the cry she made as he ran her through, just to end her suffering. 

He closed his book and stood just as it all clicked into place. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked Damen; the quip was meant to show he knew that this was wrong. That he knew precisely what it was the four of them had come to do. 

“I don’t think the Prince is in an amorous mood,” Damen said, deadpan.

“I take a while to warm up,” Laurent murmured in response. 

The first of the men came at him, a knife in his hands, with the second hot on the first’s heels. Laurent focused his attention on knocking the weapon from the first’s grip. From taking it from him and defending himself. His breath was uneven, his body unsteady. Something was wrong, but he -- 

He cut down the first of the men, and when he looked up, his eyes widened as he pieced the scene together. He expected Damen to round on him; to subdue him like these men couldn’t. And yet -- 

Two dead, and a third held tightly in Damen’s muscular arms. Laurent picked up the knife and ordered Damen to keep the third man still. His horse, likely poisoned in an effort to make Laurent’s death appear accidental. Three men sent into his rooms with the Akielon slave in tow, prepared with Akielon weapons like the one Laurent now held in his hand. To make it look like Akielos had planned the assassination, all along.

He didn’t blink as he dragged the knife along the third man’s throat, slitting it open. 

He did at Damen’s reaction; the startled noise that escaped him. Damen had just killed one man while Laurent had slain a second -- was it truly so shocking that Laurent would dispatch of the third as well? 

His gaze shifted, and he met Damen’s eyes, and felt a painful flare of -- _something_. His grip shifted on the knife, and Damen -- 

Had him pinned against the wall, his fingers tight around Laurent’s wrist, just like he had done in the baths. He pushed back, tried to plunge that knife into Damen. He had an excuse, a real, true excuse, and yet he -- 

He was acutely aware of how close Damen was to him. How hard his fingertips dug into Laurent’s skin. He could feel the other man’s breath, hot against his face, and Laurent found his own catching in his throat, if only for a moment.

This was not how he expected to feel, pinned to the wall like this.

***

After the first time Damen had saved Laurent’s life, the times after that had come as no surprise. Damen, Laurent was coming to realize, was not at all the man he’d thought him to be. And as he learned his peculiarities and began to understand Damen’s straightforward, moral nature, the harder it became for the other man to catch Laurent unawares.

Still, he had expected Damen to take his chance to flee across the border, once the two of them had gone their separate ways at Nesson. He had expected to never see the man again.

The fourth time came when Damen returned to the camp, just as he said he would. Laurent looked up, and there he was, standing several steps away from him, a spent horse not too far behind. 

Damen began his approach. He gazed at Laurent, eyes wide and his expression open for all to read. “You’re alive,” he said in a rush, his words breathless with relief. 

“I’m alive,” Laurent murmured back. He couldn’t look away from Damen’s face; from the way those dark eyes focused on him. For a fourth time, he found himself trying to rearrange the pieces he had in his possession, his image of the man before him obliterated, once again. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

It was a quiet admission. One Laurent wasn’t sure how to process. Freedom had been at Damen’s fingertips all over again, and yet here he was, in front of Laurent like a lost puppy relieved to return to its owner. 

“I came back,” Damen said. 

Laurent felt his heart beat painfully in his chest. It sounded almost like a promise; like Damen would always, without a doubt, return to him. Like Damen would be there for him, like his -- 

He cut that thought off just as Jord approached them, and Damen’s eyes finally broke away from Laurent’s own.

***

It had all happened in an instant.

His horse shied, a loud scream escaping it. Laurent, his world violently tilted, threw himself from the animal as it smashed against the rocks of the stream. The shock of chilled water plus the impact of his own body against the rocks left him breathless, if only for a moment. Disoriented, he looked for the source of the disturbance -- saw the man charging him, sword drawn, wearing the deep red of Akielos --

And he saw the sword, thick and heavy, embed itself in the man’s chest and throw him back, pinning him to ground. 

For a moment, nothing made sense. The sword had come out of thin air, from behind him, from -- 

Damen, lowering himself to one knee in the water, ghosted his hands over Laurent’s body. “I saw you fall,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion Laurent couldn’t place. “Are you hurt?” 

Concern. He was _concerned_. For Laurent’s well-being. Had saved him yet again from yet another would-be murderer, like he had done countless times before. The same hands that had thrown the sword were gentle on his person, looking for any sign of injury.

“No,” Laurent managed. He cleared his throat and pushed himself semi-upright, legs still sprawled in the water and one hand holding his leaning weight. “No, you got to him. Before.” 

Damen’s attention was still on his body. Laurent couldn’t keep his tone free of the odd note invading it. He couldn’t move as Damen’s fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, as Damen’s fingertips skirted lower and examined him in ways his eyes could not. 

For the fifth time, Laurent found himself unable to understand the man in front of him. The power and gentleness he contained. How he’d use that power to protect Laurent; how he used that gentleness to pamper him. 

“Can you stand?” Damen had asked, seemingly oblivious to Laurent’s stare.. “We need to move out. Too many people want to kill you.” 

_And you’re not one of them_ , Laurent thought to himself, taking Damen’s proffered arm. “Everyone to the south, but only half the people to the north,” he cracked, but the truth of the words weighed him down. 

A moment passed between them. A shift in the air -- one Laurent couldn’t identify. Or wasn’t willing to. 

It didn’t fit. Damen didn’t fit. But then again, he never had, and that -- that was something Laurent had grown to accept, grudgingly, unwillingly. Laurent’s eyes moved from Damen’s; flickered to his limping horse, then to the man grotesquely pinned to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding himself straight. “We can’t leave him here.” 

Damen turned to the felled man in question with a slight downward turn of his lips.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and left Laurent to take care of the dead without another word.

***

Laurent watched as Damen left the hall; took in the odd tension in the other man’s shoulders and frowned to himself. It was unlike Damen to leave without a word; but he could understand it. They had won Ravenel, a feat thought to be impossible. The noise of the celebrations was a bit much; crowding and stifling.

He let him leave. He knew, now, that he could trust Damen. He knew that their agreement had been satisfied; that Damen had served his Prince, just as he said he would, and that tomorrow, he would be free to return home, just as Laurent said he could. The whole night, he could feel Damen’s eyes on him; the way they studied him and moved up the length of his body -- how they had come to rest on Laurent’s face. 

He’d seen desire in a man many times before. He’d seen it in his uncle’s eyes, when he was just a boy on the cusp of becoming a man. 

His stomach soured, and he frowned infinitesimally to himself. Now was not when he wanted to think about his uncle; of all the work he still had left to do, in order to win back his throne. He hadn’t wanted to think of Damen looking at him like all of those men before -- except he found that he did, and he found himself rising from his seat, detaching himself from the celebrations as politely as he could, with what grace he felt he had left. 

He found himself asking for Damen’s whereabouts; found himself trying to determine where, exactly, his Captain had gone without him. When he located Damen on top of the battlements, he approached him alone, and felt an odd thump in his chest.

Before, he’d had never considered being alone with this man a comfort. And yet, as he settled into the space beside Damen, he felt some of the weight topple from his shoulders -- though not all. In the back of his mind, he kept turning Aimeric’s allegiance with his uncle over in his mind. The pieces were clicking into place, but the image --

It was not one he wanted to focus on, at the moment. 

“You know, the slaves you gifted Torveld are worth almost as much as the men he’s given you,” Damen said, breaking the silence that enveloped them. 

“I would say exactly that much,” Laurent said, looking out at the expanse stretched out before them. 

“I thought you helped them out of compassion.”

“No, you didn’t,” Laurent said, his lips curling upwards, just slightly. 

Damen snorted at that, and Laurent could see him shake his head in the torchlight. Damen’s eyes turned back to the outside world. “My father hated Veretians,” he said, frowning. “He called them cowards, deceivers. He would have been just like these border lords Touars and Makedon. War hungry. I can only imagine what he would have thought of you.” 

Laurent listened, his expression returning to its normal, neutral state. Damen spoke as though Laurent had no idea who he truly was -- and Laurent supposed he hadn’t made it obvious that he had known the truth, this whole time. Before he could say anything, Damen said: “Your own father would be proud today.”

“That I picked up a sword and put on my brother’s ill-fitting clothes?” Laurent asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. “I’m sure he would be.”

“...You don’t want the throne,” Damen murmured, and Laurent was acutely aware of Damen’s gaze upon his face. The way he studied him. 

“I want the throne,” Laurent returned, standing up straighter. “Do you honestly think, after all you’ve seen, that I’d shy from power or the chance to wield it?”

“No.” 

The answer was simple; precise. It was exactly the sort of response Laurent expected from Damen. The sort of response he had come to rely on, in times where his mind was turning everything over. Like it was doing now, still clicking pieces into place. Aimeric. His uncle’s trip to Fortaine, some time ago. Two weeks, expanded to three. 

“No,” Laurent said in response, frowning to himself. 

“I never questioned the way my father saw the world,” Damen admitted quietly. “It was enough for me to be the kind of son he was proud of. I could never bring shame to his memory, but for the first time I realize I don’t want to be…” 

_His kind of King_ , Laurent heard in the unfinished words. He let his eyes flutter closed at Damen’s half-confession. Damen, unlike him, had been meant for Kingship. He had been raised in it, brought up with that expectation, exuded it from every fiber of his being, just like -- 

“I’m sorry,” Damen said, cutting off Laurent’s thoughts. 

Laurent started, turning his eyes towards Damen and his brows bunching together, but only a little. “Why would you apologize to me?” 

There was a moment where he saw Damen struggle. Eventually, he said, “I didn’t understand what being King meant to you.” 

“What’s that?” Laurent asked, irritation building within him. 

“An end to fighting.” 

Something ached in Laurent’s chest at those words. Somehow, even when skirting around the truth, Damen managed to find another hidden deep within Laurent and bring it to the surface, exposing it to the world. He and Damen turned to one another, and there was a flicker of an emotion across Damen’s face -- regret, maybe. Except -- 

“I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honor,” Damen was saying, and yet Laurent wasn’t sure he heard the words correctly, not as he felt the world close out around them and all he could focus on was Damen’s face. “I want you to know you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens to both of us.”

“Friends,” whispered Laurent. The word ached, and not in a way that he liked. “Is that what we are?” 

It surprised him, how much it hurt. It surprised him even more when he found himself looking up at Damen, hoping for him to correct it, to put their relationship back in its proper place: as enemies, two men who hated one another, and yet --

“Laurent, I am your slave,” Damen said, the honesty burning through Laurent as it must have Damen. 

As if to prove it, Damen’s hand reached for him. It trembled, but didn’t hesitate as it brushed against Laurent’s cheek. And to Laurent’s surprise, he let his head tilt back; let Damen’s mouth come down on top of his, a simple brush of lips against lips and nothing more. Damen’s hand slid from his cheek to the edge of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Laurent’s head. 

Laurent met Damen’s lips the second time, stepping closer, finding himself wanting this, despite everything, despite knowing precisely what it was Damen had meant to apologize for, just moments ago. 

And he didn’t hate himself for wanting it -- much to his own surprise.


End file.
